SOUTH PARK: The Bile Bandit
by Tharpdevenport
Summary: Mystery is afoot in South Park and everybody in town is trying to stop one unknown person from what he's been doing... (title censored because of the FF rules; you know what word I really meant!)
1. Chapter 1

It's a beautiful warn sunny day in South Park. Kyle exits the bathroom after having slept in as Summer Vacation has begun.

Kyle walks down stairs and passed Gerald who is relaxing on the couch.

"Hey, dad."

"Morning, son."

Kyle enters the kitchen Sheila is cleaning in.

"Good morning, mom."

"Well good morning to you too, son. I can't believe you slept in on such a beautiful morning."

"No lose, I blow most beautiful mornings in school learning about ancient Mesopotamia anyway."

"And you never know when that might come in handy; one day you might be on 'Jeopardy' and it's your final question, son."

"Or I'll forget it all next month when they plow other useless knowledge into me," Kyle says in a quiet voice.

"Your breakfast is on the table."

"Thanks, mom," Kyle says as he walks away from the fridge with a glass of milk.

"Kyle," Gerald calls out from the living room.

"Go see what your father wants, bubelah."

Kyle walks over to his dad.

"Yeah, dad."

"Can you go get the mail?"

"Sure thing, dad."

Kyle walks to and opens the front door; he closes it. He walks down the driveway and passed the family's SUV.

"What is that smell?" Kyle says as he turns to go to the mailbox.

He closes the mailbox door after pulling out the mail. When he turns to head back, he stops and looks on in disgust. Right there behind the SUV is a big pile of human shit.

.

Kyle rings a doorbell. The door opens.

"Oh, hello Kyle."

"Is Cartman in?" Kyle says, annoyed.

"Yes, I think he just got back in. Eric honey, you have a visitor!" she calls out.

"How long was he gone?" Kyle asks her.

"Oh, about an hour, I think," she then walks away.

"Ah huh," Kyle comments aloud.

Eric waddles up to the door.

"Well, good morning, Kyle," says Eric.

"Where were you?"

"Just out taking care of business. Why do you ask?"

"Cartman … why did you shit on my driveway?"

"What? Somebody shit on your driveway?" Eric asks back.

"Don't play coy with me. There are two people here who know you did it: you and me."

"Kyle, I'm offended that you think I would take a big fat dump on you drive way. It certainly lacks the depth and pizzazz of my regular schemes."

"Bullshit – you're not offended by anything! Making a woman have an abortion so you could have a Shakey's Pizza or killing somebody's parents and feeding them to him, you don't know a limit!"

"Man, I forgot about that Shakey's Pizza thing. That was some good pizza."

"I don't know why you did it, but if you do it again and I catch you, I'm calling the police. My home is the one place I shouldn't have to take literal shit from you."

"Well, Kyle, I hope you're as readily able to apologize to me as you were to implicate me."

"I'm going home to have breakfast. Bye," Kyle turns around and walks away from the house.

.

Horus later. Kyle sits in front of the computer in his room, bumming around online he picks up the landline phone when it rings.

"Hey, Stan, what's up?"

"I just saw on the five-o'clock news your house. The anchor said somebody defecated on the driveway. I assume you've already questions Cartman."

"Yep, and he dined it."

"To be expected. What's the plan?" Stan asks.

"I'm researching online to see if I can use my GoPro camera as a motion-activated surveillance camera. If he tries it again, it'll be hard to deny the video to the police."

"Sounds good. Knowing Cartman, he won't be able to resist shitting on your driveway a second time."

"I know," says Kyle back.

"Well, I have to go eat dinner now, so I need to stop talking and thinking about shit now. Good night."

"Good night," Kyle says back and then hangs up the phone.

.

The night comes and passes into the day. Even though Kyle slept in again, he still wakes up about the same time. He heads downstairs, only this time he goes straight for the front door, with a look of determination on his face.

"Morning, dad," Kyle says as he shuts the door.

"Huh," Gerald exclaims, "Always good to train them young before they rebel."

Kyle reaches the end of the SUV and looks. No pile of shit.

When Kyle gets back into the house, his dad is sitting up holding the wireless landline phone.

"Kyle, your friend Stan is on the phone."

Kyle walks over and gets the phone.

"What's up?"

"**That Goddamn**," Stan shouts.

Kyle pulls the phone from his ear some.

"…fucking ultra-Shamoo sized son of a bitch shit on my driveway!"

.

**DING DONG!**

This time Eric opens the door, "Oh, hey, Stan and Kyle."

"Why? _Why?_" Stan says furiously.

"Why _what_, Stan?" asks Eric.

"You know exactly what the fuck. It's not enough you give us shit, now you're literally giving us shit! You're gone too far! You shit on either of our driveways, lawns, or any area on our properties – since I know you'd take my words literally and find a place to shit – again, we're calling the police."

"Stan, I … I understand your frustration, but I did not shit on your driveway or Kyle's. I think you two owe me an apology."

"Screw you," Stan retorts.

"Why are you wheezing and taking deep breaths, huh? Still exhausted from your power waddle?" Kyle comments.

"No."

Eric's mother walks over to the door to get out, "Did you enjoy your jog my little love puff?"

"Yeah … thanks, mom," Eric says in an annoyed voice.

"All right. I'm going to the grocery store; be back in a little bit."

"Okay."

They wait for her to get in the car.

"Since when the fuck have you ever jogged for your health?" Kyle mocks in an accusatory way.

"Kyle, I don't have to explain my exercising habits to you. Now, if you two don't mind, I have video games to play," he shuts the door.

Kyle and Stan turn and walks back to the side walk along the road.

"We better warn Kenny," says Stan.

"I don't think he'll shit at Kenny's house – they don't have a driveway. It would be a Cartman M.O. to make the point Kenny's parents are too poor to afford a driveway."

"True, but he's probably counting on that," says Stan.

Stan's phone rings; he pulls it out of a pocket and answers.

"Hey, mom. Oh. Okay, no problem. Love you too. Bye," he hangs up and re-pockets it.

"What's up?"

"Mom says the news reporters are already out there and that I should probably stay away for a few hours."

"You can hang out at my place," Kyle offers.

"Thanks."

.

The next morning. Kenny suddenly wakes up, realizing he had dozed off while keeping an eye out from a front window. He quickly goes outside and looks around; there is no pile of crap.

Some time passes and Kenny, Kyle and Stan walk together toward the playground in tow.

"I guess we showed him," Kenny says in a muffled voice.

"I don't know," says Kyle, "It seems unlike Cartman to give up so easily."

"Oh, shit – no pun intended – we forgot about Butters!" Stan exclaims.

"You're right. It's not a question of _if_, but _when_ he'll shit on Butters' driveway," says Kyle.

Ay they walk by the TV station, people come out in a rush.

"Come on, guys, the pooper has struck again!"

They load into the news van.

"Poops, he did it again!" Kyle exclaims.

They run after the van as it pulls out of the parking lot.

.

After a few minutes of running, the three of them reach a residential street where they had seen the van turn. Already parked and equipment nearly finished being set up, the reporter checks his hair in a window of the van.

"Dude – that's Wendy's house!" Stan exclaims.

They make their way through the crowd of neighbors.

"Okay, move along, people; nothing to see here. Well, except for that big pile of shit," says officer Barbrady.

The anchor speaks, "Okay, ready? Good. Live in three … two … one. The Civil Society. I'm a part of it, you're a part of it, we're all a part of it. Everybody lives more or less peaceably under it, until somebody takes a literal crap on it. I'm news reporter Tom Thompson with Channel 4 news, live at the residential home of local residents the Testaburgers, where an unknown pavement assailant has for the third day in a row, defecated on somebody's driveway. Dubbed the Shit Bandit, the suspect craps on the property of the innocent without being a member of Occupy Wall Street. Here with me now is local South Park Elementary School student and witness, Wendy Testaburger," he gets down on his knees and holds the microphone out at Wendy, "Wendy, tell us in a non-graphic way what you saw."

"I was sitting on the living room couch reading a book when I saw somebody jog by slowly and stop behind our SUV. I yelled out to mom that somebody was in our driveway. She opened the door and yelled at the person who then jogged away."

"Can you describe the suspect?"

"I really didn't see him too well. I think he was short and fat."

Kyle, Kenny, and Stan exchanges glances with each other.

"Then other cars and trucks blocked my view of him. I followed her out and that's when we saw it."

"Can you describe what you saw?"

"A pile of dookey."

"And can you tell us what it smelled like?"

"A pile of dookey."

"Was there steam coming off of it?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Wendy asks.

Eric makes his way through the crowd and stops once he reaches Kyle, Kenny and Stan.

"Hey guys, what's going on?"

"You bastard!" Stan exclaims angrily.

"Stan, that's no way to say hello to a friend."

"Looks like you have fresh waddle sweet on you, Pillsbury," Kyle comments.

"Yeah, where were you this last hour?" Stan grills.

"Ay! This isn't Nazi Germany – I don't have to explain myself."

"There will be plenty of time for you to do that in front of a judge," says Kyle.

"Describe for the viewers what it smells like," Tom asks Wendy.

"I'm done," Wendy says, walking away.

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, one little girl and her family terrorized by the steaming foul-smelling droppings of the Shit Bandit. Will be or she strike again? Only time will tell. Tune in next shit-time, same shit-station – the worst is yet to come!" he lowers his microphone and puts a finger to one of his ears; he then raises the mic' back up, "Oh and I'm being told by my producer to say that our station is _not_ shit. And that each time I say _shit_, we get fined by the FCC. My bad. Back to you, Tammy."

Eric walks over to the poop pile and pulls out his phone to take a picture with it.

"Agh! Now he's photographing his work," says Kyle.

"That's it," says Stan, "Nobody poops on my girlfriend's driveway and gets away with it. Unless she poops on it herself. Which I would hope she wouldn't do."

"What are you suggesting? Kyle asks.

"The three of us and Butters come together and form a neighborhood poop patrol."

"This is not the Summer Vacation activity I envisioned," says Kyle.

"Me neither," says Kenny.

"Listen guys, we have to take a stand. Today he's crapping on our driveways, tomorrow our lawns, then in our mail boxes, and God only knows where next."

"Okay," Kyle sighs heavily, "but what do we call ourselves?"

CUT TO: A montage of them each putting on brown pants.

"Where ever there are driveways…" we hear Stan's voice.

Then we see their backs as they put on brown shirts.

"Where ever there are fat little Nazi's trying to shot on them…"

And, finally, each of them puts on a poop emoji hat.

"There will be: Poop Patrol!"

They stand there in the uniforms, with on the front of each shirt a long snaking poop with eyes and a snake's tongue hissing out and the words "Don't Shit on Me" underneath it.

Kyle looks at them," It stinks."


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Kyle, Stan, and Kenny patrol the streets of South Park, dressed in their Poop Patrol uniforms.

Kyle takes a walkie-talkie off his belt, "Red One checking in. So far, so good."

Stan, on another street, speaks into his walkie-talkie, "Brown Two checking in. Saw a couple of joggers, but neither were Suspect. Over."

Kenny looks around; the poop emoji hat resting atop his orange good, "Corn Mix checking in. I don't see shit."

"Red One here: Keep an eyes out. He's struck every day so far, so today should be no different. Out."

"Corn Mix here. I think I see something…"

Kyle and Stan both freeze in their tracks and wait with excited anticipation for their walkie-talkie's to sound off Kenny's voice.

"False alarm; just nearing Target's home. Checking to see if he's there. Out," says Kyle.

Kyle walks up to the front door of the Cartman residence; he rings the doorbell and waits.

Eric's mother answers, "Why hello there, Kyle is it?"

"Yes, ma'am. Is Eric in?"

"Oh, I'm sorry; you just missed him. He left for this morning jog about five minutes ago."

"Thanks!" Kyle exclaims and turns and runs back onto the street, yelling into his walkie-talkie, "Red One here! Target is loose and runny! I repeat, Target is loose and runny!"

"I don't see anything! I don't see anything! Brown Two over!"

"Corn Mix, check your place! Red One out!" Kyle yells.

"On my way! Corn Mix out."

"Brown Two here. I'm heading for a pay phone! Over."

"I'm heading over to Tweek's place! Red One out!" Kyle exclaims and runs.

Stan rounds a corner and heads down a business street fast. He runs into a dinger and snatches a newspaper off a table for costumers to read. He runs back outside and up to a pay phone.

"Man, I can't believe these still exist," he puts money n and dials.

Butters, "Good morning, Sailor Hardware, may I help you?"

Stan replies, "This is Brown Two. Day code, Entertainment section. Ident' procedure: boobs, firm."

Butters gets up and closes his bed room door, "Okay, this is a secure line. What's up, Brown Two?"

"the Target is loose and unaccounted for. Check your _mark_!"

"Oh, hamburgers!" Butters hangs up and dashes out his bedroom.

"No running in the house, mister!" Butters' dad yells.

"Sorry," he slows down.

"Corn mix – clear!"

"Red One – clear!"

Butters runs once outside; he sees somebody bending down behind the car in the driveway, "Hey, you!"

The person stands up and runs away, not facing Butters.

Butters pulls a walkie-talkie out of a pocket and presses the Send button, "Poopguard to P.P.! Target spotted at the _mark_ and is heading south!"

"Converge! Converge!" Kyle shouts furiously.

"Brown Two – Target spotted heading east on Elm! I'm in pursuit!" Stan yells back.

"Target's heading back to his HQ! Red One out!"

"I'm not too far from Target's street. Corn Mix out!"

"Give it up, Cartman! You literally can't run forever!" Stan yells while running. "Brown Two – Target's short-cutting through the woods!"

"I'm about two minutes from Target's street. Red One out," Kyle keeps running.

"Brown Two – Target is wearing grey sweat pants and a grey coat with a hoodie. Over."

"Corn Mix here. I'm at one end of Target's street."

"Brown Two. I'm using a side street. I don't know these woods."

"Red One. I'm approaching Target's Street. Okay I can see Corn Mix."

"Brown Two – I'm almost there. Proceed to Target's HQ. See anything?"

"Nothing," says Kenny.

"Goddamnit – did we miss him?" says Stan.

All three of them converge on Eric's house, making sure to keep an eye out.

"Well," Kyle says loud enough for others to hear, "if Eric isn't home, I'm going to tell his mom he said it was okay to give me all his Cheesy Puffs."

They wait but hear no rumblings in the woods and don't' see Eric using the street either.

"No – he couldn't have waddle-jogged _that_ fast. Could he of?" asks Stan.

They stand at the front doorbell and Kyle rings in. Liane answers it.

"Oh, hello boys. Looking for Eric?"

"Yes. Is he home?" asks Kyle.

"Hold on just a sec'," she looks in and calls out, "Eric, poopykins, you have visitors!"

Eric answers the door, sweaty, huffing and in grey sweats, "Hey guys."

"So … I see you're home," says Kyle knowingly.

"No shit, Sherlock," Eric says back.

Kenny's phone rings and he pulls it out.

Stan joins in, "I don't know how you of all people beat us to the house, but game, set, match – you didn't get Butters' driveway today and you won't tomorrow."

"You know, guys, I'm trying to be polite," says Eric.

"Yea, and it must be killing you," says Kyle.

"…but this reframe about me being a serial property pooper is getting old."

"Then stop pooping on our property!" Kyle shouts.

Kenny interjects, "Craig just called. Somebody shit on his driveway."

"I thought we patrolled Craig's street," Stan says to Kenny and Kyle.

"I did, but Mary Poopins here must have slipped by after I passed it," says Kyle.

"You can't get away with this forever. There are more of us than you, individual-wise not weight-wise, and jogging isn't you strong suite. In fact, moving in general doesn't fir you," says Stan.

"I'm sorry, guys, I can't continue to stand here and take your insults. Good day to you," he closes the door.

"Uph! That fatstard! Come on, let's talk to the police," says Kyle.

.

Kyle, Kenny, and Stan sit in police headquarters at Barbrady's desk. Barbrady walks over with doughnuts and soda.

"Here you go, boys."

"Thank you, officer Barbrady," says Kyle.

"No, thank _you_, boys; for coming to me. I know I've fallen out of favor even though people generally love me, but I'm still useful. Hey, did any of you happen to see my gun lying anywhere?"

"No," Stan says for them.

"Huh. I'm sure it'll turn up. Now, what exactly seems to be your problem."

"The Shit Bandit," says Kyle.

"Oh, yeah, that guy has been leaving Lincoln Logs everywhere," says Barbrady.

"We believe out fri9end in the Shit Bandit," says Kyle.

"And what makes you think that?"

"Aside from the fact he's both literally and figuratively full of shit, he's always out jogging when it happens and has a penchant for committing heinous acts," Kyle answers.

"Hum, well, sorry boys, but that's all hearsay and conjecture. None of this is actionable; it's not even good enough to bring him in for questioning. Now, if you can catch him on film or we see him in the act, that's something else entirely."

"We're working on getting video, but he's pretty crafty," says Kyle.

"Couldn't you use DNA testing? Compare a fresh shit to a bagged one?" asks Stan.

"I'm afraid not, boys. No, that's film logic; first the person has to be a suspect, then the suspect has to either allow us to collect a sample or we obtain one by a warrant unless collected in the process of another crime, and all of which would happen under the _chain of custody_, which if not done properly can lead to entire cases being thrown out."

"You mean there's nothing you can do?" Kyle inquires.

"Until I catch him in the act or you can produce video of him _laying mouse tracks_ – if you know what I mean – legally he's done nothing wrong."

Kyle sighs heavily, "Thanks anyway, officer Barbrady."

They get up and head out of the police station, sipping soda and eating doughnuts.

"Unbelievable. Fatass always shits right up to the legal line but never over it," Kyle comments.

"Unless we catch him. Come on – we'll go back to my place and think tank," says Stan.

.

When Stan arrives home and opens the front door, he sees Eric sitting on the couch next to Randy.

"Oh, hey, Stan, your friend Eric stopped by. We were just discussing the Shit Bandit."

"A confession, I hope," says Kyle in an annoyed tone.

"I was asking your dad what possible motivation could be behind such an awful steaming crime. He might have some insight," says Eric.

"Stan, remember when I took that massive award-winning shit?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You framed it."

Eric speaks up, "I remember, Mr. Marsh. Nobody's full of shit like you," says Eric.

"Well, boys," says Randy, "it occurred to me: what if this is nothing more than an advertising schemes designed to gain recognition to some guy looking to usurp my title?"

"Speaking of huge loads…" Stan says in a faint voice with sarcasm.

"But then reality set in," says Randy.

"Unexpected, but it works," says Stan.

"No human being could take a bigger one than mine and live."

Stan just sighs heavily.

Kyle then speaks up, "I think we need to form a profile on him. You know, like we do serial killers," says Kyle.

"That's a good idea, Kyle," says Eric, "Clearly this individual likes to eat."

"A lot," Kyle adds sarcastically.

"He's also bereft of any morals and bounds of decency within a civil society," says Stan.

"And eats on a regular schedule," says Randy.

"And he's fat," says Kenny.

"Probably racist, too," says Kyle.

"Okay, Kyle, now you're just reaching," says Eric.

"Probably suffers from penis envy. Don't forget that," says Stan.

"All right, guys," Eric says annoyed.

"Assuming he has a penis," says Kenny.

Everyone laughs but Eric.

"Yeah, and he probably has big blubbery man tits that shake like bowls full of jelly," says Randy.

They all burst out laughing again, excerpt Eric who just looks pissed off.

"And anti-sematic," Kyle also adds.

Eric comments, "I'm sure whomever is doing it has his or her own reasons."

"Nah," says Randy, "that namby pamby crap probably flies in other parts of Colorado, but here in South Park you got to be abnormal to shit in broad daylight on other people's driveways."

"Yeah, completely out-of-touch with the American people," says Kyle.

"Don't forget willfully ignorant," Stan adds.

Eric stands up, "I'm going home. Nice talking Mr. Marsh."

Eric shits the front door behind himself.

"Ew, ew – let's see what the news is saying about it," says Randy.

He turns the TV on and to the local channel four news.

Tom Thompson talks, "I'm standing here with Craig Tucker, whose driveway was crapped on this morning. Craig, can you tell us what the suspect looked like?"

"He was short and fat and all in grey sweats. The hood over his head kept me from seeing the face."

"And what did he do?"

"He deuced on our driveway," Craig says with a little bit of condensation.

"Ah, yes. Did he spread his cheeks apart when he did his business?"

"My dad's SUV was blocking the view."

"Hum. Did it look like it snaked out and twirled around into a pyramid like at and ice cream shop?"

"I don't feel comfortable talking to you anymore," says Craig.

"Come on, let's go upstairs to my room," says Stan, "I got an idea…"


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning. We see Kyle from the perspective of a camera that is swaying steadily in the wind.

Kyle presses the SEND button on his walkie-talkie, "Red One to poopmates. Flying P.P. is still functioning."

The view cuts to Kyle standing in his Poop Patrol uniform on a side walk, operating his selfie drone with his phone. The drone is now painted brown and has a GoPro camera strapped to the bottom of it.

"Brown Two reporting. An anonymous text is reporting a short fat suspect in grey sweats is heading south on 3rd Street."

"Those flyers we posted yesterday paid off. Red One out.:

"Corn Mix, are you nearby? Over," asks Stan.

"No, but I'm heading there now!"

"Converge! Converge!" Kyle yells out. He walks quickly while flying the drone on ahead.

"I'm two streets away. Brown Two over."

"Nearing 3rd now! Corn Mix out!"

"Flying P.P. is on 3rd now; suspect sighted. Pursuing! Red One out!"

"Right behind you! Corn Mix out!" says Kenny.

"I'm keeping Flying P.P. a safe distance back so we don't alert Target. Red One out."

"I'm behind you guys now. Brown Two out."

"Target is stepping onto a driveway!" Kyle yells.

"Flash him!" Stan yells into his walkie-talkie.

Kyle presses some buttons on his phone and red and blue lights attached to the top of the selfie drone flash on and off.

"Freeze!" Kyle yells out, with his voice sounding from a small wireless speaker on the drone, which now hovers mere feet from the suspect.

The suspect stops in his tracks and raises his heads. Kenny, Kyle and Stan come to a stop mere feet from the guy.

"Neighborhood Poop Patrol. Turn around slowly and keep your hands and pants up!" Kyle demands.

The man turns around.

"Officer Barbrady?" says Kyle.

"What are you doing out here?" asks Stan.

"I'm just out for a morning jog. Trying to lose some weight."

"But you're dressed in all grey sweats just like the Shit Bandit," Kyle says to him.

"I wasn't aware the suspect had a monopoly on grey-colored exercise sweats."

"What were you doing on the driveway?" Stan asks.

"Just resting a minute off the street. I wouldn't want to get his by a car."

"Oh," Stan comments, having ruled Barbrady out as the suspect.

"son of a bitch," says Kyle, "Eric is probably shitting on someone's driveway right now! He probably knew Barbrady wears grey sweats and used him as a diversion!"

Kenny's phone rings; he answers it, "Hello? Yeah. Aaawww, damnit," he hangs up. "Clyde says someone shit in his driveway."

"Fucking fuck!" Kyle exclaims.

Barbrady speaks up, "Can I lower my arms now?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Stan replies back.

Kyle lands the drone and deactivates it.

"Why don't you children just follow the suspect when he leaves his house each morning?"

Kyle answers, "We've tried but he keeps changing the time. We'd each have to camp out in front of his house and take shifts watching it. We are _not_ going to let him ruin our Summer Vacation to that extent."

"Well, boys, I'll keep thinking on my end. Maybe I'll have one of those things the call 'idea'."

"Thanks, officer Barbrady," says Kyle.

Stan interjects, "Let's get to Clyde's house and question him before the news crews get there," says Stan.

.

Stan, Kenny, and Kyle walk up to Clyde's house still dressed in their Poop Patrol uniforms with poop emoji hats. People look on and gawk at the house. Some take pictures of where the pile of shit had been; now in its place is a white chalk outline with an outline veering off in one spot like the shape of a sausage.

"Clyde," Stan calls out to Clyde who is looking out a window. "We just want to ask some questions."

Clyde motions for them to come to the front door, which he opens.

"What do you weirdoes want?"

"Hey, we're now weirdos," says Kenny.

"Yeah," Stan joins in.

"You're spending part of your Summer Vacation waking up early to try and catch someone in the act of dispensing diaper gravy on other people's driveways, and you're dressed like poop."

"Yeah, and when we catch the guy, you'll be thankful," says Kyle.

"I don't know," says Clyde, "I have been known to be an ungrateful bastard."

"We just have a few questions, Clyde," says Kyle.

"Okay."

"Do you have a video security system? So we can identify the suspect."

"No."

"Did you see him?" asks Kyle.

"Part of him, yes. He went behind the car."

"That's his M.O.; he hides behind them so people don't know what he's doing until it's too late," says Kyle.

"Was he dressed in all grey sweats?" Stan asks.

"Yeah, he looked like he was filming a commercial for Grey Poopon."

"Okay," says Kyle, "Just a couple more. Now-"

Suddenly a man steps between them.

"Out of my way, shits," says Tom.

"Hey, asshole, we were talking," says Stan to Tom.

"No, you were breathing my air. Don't argue with me; I'm from the Acosta Sound-alike Scheme of Highly Omnipotent Lower Media Elites System!"

"I don't care if you're the creators of 'Terrance & Phillip', we were-"

Tom picks up Stan up by a forearm.

"I will break this arm! And then I'll like about it to my fellow A.S.S.H.O.L.E.S. who will back me up! You know what _brown_ can do for me? Fuck off!"

He drops Stan. The three of them run off.

"Jesus that dude is fucked up," Kyle says in a shocked voice.

"On me in three … two … one," says Tom, "I'm tom Thompson with another Channel Four news updates. We are here at the home of the Donovan's, where the Shit Bandit has continued striking poop into the hearts of the town's people. Little boy, did you see what happened here?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"There's not much to say. Some piece of human garbage mistaked out driveway for a San Francisco street and made ass-kabob's on it."

"Hum. Did the steaming beefy pile have corn in it?"

"I didn't look that closely," Clyde replies.

"Can you tell us if it had flies crawling all over it, looking to lay their larva in the warm creamy-"

"Did you shit on my driveway?" Clyde asks, interrupting Tom.

.

The three talk as they head back to their homes.

"How the hell are we supposed to catch Cartman without one of us camping out front his house?" asks Kyle.

Stan replies, "I don't know."

Eric jogs up behind them.

"Captain's log: still on the lookout for those Cling-on's," Eric comments.

"Oh no – you don't get to come here and pretend you're so innocent and we're the evil bastards victimizing you, your Feculence," says Kyle.

"Kyle, I had no idea you were so filled with hate. Probably stems from the days when your people murdered Jesus."

"Count to ten," Stan warns Kyle.

Kyle stands there with fists and his face is turning red with anger.

"One of these days, Cartman," Kyle points, "one of the houses you Obamaed all over the driveway of will have a security camera and you'll be-"

"That's it!" Stan interrupts Kyle.

"What" Kyle asks Stan.

"Security cameras! We just have to go house-to-house and ask to see their recordings. Fartman Nochu over here will be on them. We can track him to the houses and may even have him on video doing his deed!"

"Busted, Cartman!" Kyle says with triumph.

"Let's roll," says Stan.

.

CUT OT: A montage of the kids going door-to-door, watching videos on fast-forward, and getting more tied as time marches on and the sky turns orange.

The three of them walk together.

"Unbelievable, simply unbelievable! Every single video! His head is down or turned away on all of them! He actually knows where all the fucking cameras are!" Kyle yells.

Eric rolls up to them on his trike.

"Speaking of the fat Devil now…" Stan comments.

"Hey guys," Eric says in an upbeat voice once he reaches them, "Any luck with that video evidence?"

"Fuck you," Kyle says really pissed off.

"Well, Kyle, I'm going to turn the other cheek. I came over to invite you all to my house for dinner."

"Fuck you," Stan also says.

"Yep," Eric says, patting his belly, "a big ol' dinner. My stomach is going to be _reeeaaalllyyy_ full tonight."

"Yeah, 'cause you're shitting for two now," Kyle says with heavy sarcasm.

"Kenny, I know you're really poo; wanna come over to my place for free food?"

"Fuck you," Kenny says, thirding the motion.

"You know what I want, Cartman? An exact time for when you're leaving the house for your jog, so I can follow you around and make sure you don't shit on anyone's driveway, like you did mine and Clyde's!" Kyle says angrily.

"Kyle, that is not my pile of shit."

"Of course that steaming pile is yours! Whose else would it be?!" Kyle yells back.

"The Shit Fairy?" Stan says with angry sarcasm.

"Not ag, Kyle. I take my outside shit by the exercise track every morning," says Eric.

"What?" Stan says in disbelief.

"So _you're_ the one that's been shitting by the school track! Well, I'm glad you fessed up to that one, but why the hell are you making butt fudge by the track anyway?" asks Kyle.

"There's nothing like the early warming rays of sunshine and breeze blowing up your butt crack and the smell of fresh air to take a dump to. It's really quite invigorating; you guys should try it some time."

"I live in the civilized society; I'll shit in toilets, thanks," says Kyle.

"Tell you what, Kyle, I will leave the house at exactly nine tomorrow morning. You're welcome to watch my ass go."

"I'll be there!"

.

Sure enough, the next morning as nine o'clock approaches, Kyle sits on the edge of the side walk across from Eric's house. The alarm on his phone goes off; he stops it and waits. Finally, the door opens and out steps Eric in full grey sweats. He pulls the hood over his head and walks to the sidewalk here he stretches briefly and them goes from full-blown ludicrous waddle to slipstream waddle. Kyle pursues.

After almost two hours – mostly filled with Eric stopping to catch his breath and eat snacks stuffed into the pockets of the sweats – Eric stops when he sees Kenny and Stan walking coincidentally on the same street; Kyle walks over to join them.

"So, how'd it go?" Stan asks Kyle.

"I followed him around town and to the school running track where I'm sorry to say I witnessed something no man should ever witness. What about you guys?"

"No poop sightings. Kenny?" says Stan.

Kenny pulls out his phone to double check, "Nothing."

"I hate to say it," says Stan, "but if we get a report of a walk-by-pooping, would that make Cartman out _number one_ or _number_ _two_ suspect?" asks Stan.

"You're not seriously considering his load of innocence crap, are you Stan?" asks Kyle.

"Nooo, not necessarily, just hypothetically speaking."

"You see those kids over there?" he points to two little kids riding on trike's in front of a yard, "They shouldn't have to live in a world where Eric Cartman waddles over, and for shits and giggles, shits on their driveway. It's our unspoken duty to protect them, and the first step in that in identifying the enemy. And he's enemy number one. Who number two's."

"I was just saying," Stan re-iterates.

"I think the lack of any reported shittings speaks for itself. So, Eric, I'll just follow you h…" Kyle trails off when he turns to see that Eric is gone. "Where's Eric?"

Kenny's phone beeps; he pulls it out of a pocket and reads a text, "Token says someone just shit on their driveway."

"Son of a bitch!" Kyle blurts out.

"Come on, let's go get over to Token's house!" Stan says.

"No!" Kyle quickly exclaims, "He's going home."

"Then let's go there," says Stan.

"You guys go home. I have to do this alone," says Kyle.

Kyle runs over to the kids on the trikes.

"Poop Patrol! I need to commandeer this trike!" he points to one.

"Okay," says the kids who then gets off.

"I'll bring it back!" Kyle yells as he furiously peddles away.

"God speed, poopicer," says the kid.

Kyle peddles furiously with determination unmistakably on his face. A short fat man ins all grey sweats suddenly runs across Kyle and into some woods; Kyle peddles as fast as he can.

Eric runs through yards of houses. He runs through an open door and out a back door.

"Dinner's ready!" he calls out to people on the back porch.

"Hey, who was that?" a man says.

Eric walks back over, "Hey, Eric Cartman. That smells really good; can I have a piece?"

Kyle turns on to another street and slows down when he comes up to a car swerving in the road; he tries to pass it, but can't get an opening. We see a short old lady behind the wheel who can just barely see over.

Eric runs through a yard and sees a trampoline next to a fence blocking his way. He jumps up onto the trampoline as he runs toward it and smashes threw it; his weight breaking it. He gets up and goes back to the front to try another yard.

Kyle swerves around the old lady who turns off onto another street. He blows by a stop sign and a parked police car turns its lights on and pursues.

Kyle looks briefly at somebody running almost beside him. When he does a double take; Eric cuts behind him and through another yard.

Eric runs as fast as he can toward a swing and sits on it, propelling him forward; he lets go and flies over a fence into his back yard, landing in a pile of leaves. Kyle pulls aside the house and the police car stops. Kyle gets up.

"Stay where you are!" the officer says over a bullhorn.

"Damnit!" Kyle exclaims angrily, hitting the handles with his hands.

"License and registration, speedy."

"It's a trike and I'm ten!"

Eric opens the front door.

"My, my, Kyle, you really should be more careful on the roads. You got to be more courteous of other," he says; he then shuts the door.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning. Kyle, Kenny and Stan converge at an intersection in a residential neighborhood.

"It's almost noon, dude, I think we should call it a day. Maybe he's just constipated today," says Stan to Kyle.

"Maybe…" says Kyle.

"I'm going home. Catch you guys later," says Kenny.

"Yeah, I'm going home, too. See you," says Stan.

Kyle hesitates and finally decides to go home. Along the way he keeps a look out for Eric and piles of shit. When he finally nears his house, he sees it – a massive pile of shit on his driveway _again_.

.

Kyle, Kenny, and Stan once again sit at Barbrady's desk. Kyle shakes with rage; his fists are clenched tightly, his face red and he grinds his teeth.

"I'm sorry, boys, but there's nothing to go on. If it's any consolation, the more often he does it, the more the odds increase he'll get caught. Nobody ever gets away with it."

"What about the Zodiac Killer?" asks Kenny.

"Except him." Says Barbrady.

"Or D.B. Cooper," says Stan.

"Also except him."

"Or O.J. Simpson?" asks Kenny.

"Except him as well."

"And the illegal alien who murdered Kate Steinle?" asks Stan.

"Okay, you caught me, I was just using a platitude; lots of people get away with it all the time."

"**FAAAGGGALALALA!**" Kyle exclaims in incoherent anger.

"What my friend is trying to say is: he can't get away with it. Surely there must be _some_thing that can be done?" asks Stan.

"Huuummm…" Barbrady ponders, putting a finger on his chin, "Well, there is one more thing … the Hardly Boys."

Stan quickly says, "Oh, not the Gaddamn Har-"

"The Hardly Boys. Two young whipper snappers with a taste for solving mysteries!"

We see a comic-book like poster and the Hardy Boys walking by with flashlights.

"The Hardly Boys in: The Mystery of the Driveway Caca Criminal!"

.

All of them now stand on Kyle's driveway, where the pile of shit remains and yellow DO NOT CROSS tape lines block off the pile.

"And that's basically it. We just can't seem to catch the suspect," says Barbrady to them.

Joe, the one with the black hair and the dark blue sweater says, "Frank, you know what I think when I look at that pile of evidence?"

"What?" replies Frank; the one with the dark blonde hair and red sweater.

"The radius where clues can be found."

"Uuummm, Joe, I'm getting such a clue right now."

"Oh, me, too. My clue is pointing to the radius," says Joe.

"So is mine. I'm going to put my clue in the radius."

"Let's double team the radius!" says Joe.

They both stand facing the tape on opposite sides of each other.

"Oh…"

"Oh…"

"Ooohhh my clue is so hard," says Frank.

"I'm taking my clue and pulling it out of the radius and putting it back in. Now I'm doing it again!" says Joe.

"Oh, yes!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, Joe, I'm feeling clue pre-glue now!" says Frank.

"Ahhh, am I old enough to be watching this?" Stan asks Barbrady.

"Come on, I got an idea…" says Kyle. They follow him away.

"Huh. I've never seen anybody get clues that quickly before," Barbrady says to the Hardly's.

"Ohhh, are out clues giving you a clue?" asks Joe.

"Well, sort of. It takes me longer to get a clue than most people. I really have to look at a lot of different kinds of evidence for a long time. But after all that, I get a good hard clue."

"Oh, Frank, I'm getting clue pre-glue, too~!"

.

Later that day. The sun is starting to set as Kyle and the others leave a yard where a group of nerds are playing. Kyle looks at his phone.

"It's working. This new app they put together, the Crap App', or Crapp with two p's, is showing a map of where all the shits have been taken," says Kyle.

"It should. The nerds did say it's basically just a re-working of that app they use over in San Francisco to show where the pool piles are, since apparently everyone there is an Eric Cartman," says Stan.

"Look at this," Kyle motions at the screen, "All the shits have taken place within a certain radius. Except Token's house, since he lives in a good neighborhood. If he sticks to his M.O., there's not many targets remaining: Jimmy, Timmy, Tweak, and Kenny."

"Aaawww," Kenny whines at the prospect.

"And Pip's grave," Stan adds.

"What about Scott Tenorman?" asks Kenny.

"Good thinking, Kenny; he'll certainly shit on that driveway. So that means at least six more days we'll have left to catch him."

"I'll call them and warn them about what might happen," says Stan.

.

The next morning. The boys patrol the streets of suspected targets while in their Poop Patrol uniforms.

"Red On reporting. Nothing so far. Out."

"Brown Two reporting. Pretty peaceful over here. Over."

"Corn Mix reporting. Just dog dookie so far. Out."

"Just keep your eyes open; he'll shit strike sooner or later. Red One out."

Kyle looks up on ahead and sees the Hardly Boys walking on the side walk, looking around.

"Hey, what ae you guys doing out here so early?"

"Joe and I always get morning clues."

"Yeah," says Joe, "We're going around trying to find people to share our clues with. And maybe they'll give us their clues."

"Oh, Joe, you know what would be super? A clue train," says Frank.

"Oh, Frank, seriously – that's making me so cluey!"

"Let's go check the YMCA for big clues!"

"Umph – my clue is throbbing in that direction!" says Joe.

The Hardly's walk away quickly. Kyle waits a few seconds.

"I think I'll shower when I get home."

.

Butters walks outside to drop a letter in the mailbox and raise the flag. After he does so, he sees a short person in grey sweats walk out onto a driveway a few houses down.

"Hey, you!"

Without looking at Butters, the person takes off.

"Stop in the name of … something!" he runs after the person.

Butters starts to gain on the guy and close the gap by about two dozen feet. Suddenly a car backs out into the road, blocking Butters.

"Out of my way, peck!" the man shouts. He then pulls away.

Butters continues chasing the guy, but has lost the decreased gap. The man turns onto another street.

"Phone, call Kyle!"

"Calling Lyle."

"No! Call Kyle!"

"Calling Lyle."

"No! Kyle with a K, Y!"

"Searching. KY Jelly can be found at-"

"No! Never mind!"

Butters turns the corner just in time to see the man turn onto a business street. Butters finally reaches the business street and looks; he sees a short fat person ins grey sweats and a good open a door and enter a shop. After about forty seconds he reaches the place and reads the name aloud.

"Have Your Doughnut and Eat It Too," he then opens the door and walks in.

He stops in his tracks and looks around; in the booths, on the bar stools and playing pool at a pool table in an open area, are short fat guys everywhere in grey sweats.

Fat guys start looking at Butters suspiciously; some nervously.

"There is no way to know which one it is…"

After several awkward seconds standing there and being eyeballed on and off by fat guys, Butters walks up to a booth where a fat guy sits alone, eating from a plate of doughnut holes.

"Excuse me, sir, but did you happen to see a … rotund man run in here a minute ago?"

"What? Did my wife send you? Did she send you?! I am an _adult!_ If I want to eat a plate of doughnut holes, a large cinnamon bun, and a diet soda every morning, I can! _**ARAGH!**_"

"Sorry, sorry, never mind," he backs away.

Butters sits alone in a booth and ponders while looking around. Fat guys burping and farting continue to give suspicious glances, especially one in a cowboy hat.

Butters thinks to himself, "Got to be one of them…" he examines each guy, "but which one?"

He imagines approaching each one.

"Excuse me, sir."

"Get away from me!" one guy shouts; doughnut bits fly out of his mouth, "I'm eating!"

"No, no," Butters says still at the table. He imagines again. A waitress briefly walks into view and then out of view.

"Pardon me, fine sir."

"Lay off me, I'm starving!" the man chokes butters.

Cut back to Butters in the booth, "Why do people treat me like crap even in my own imagination?"

A short fat man in grey sweats exits the bathroom down a short hall next to the booth. As the man passes by, Butters notes the good still on and sweat stains on the sweater all over. The man sits down at a nearby booth and continues scarfing down a doughnut that's barely been touched.

"That's gotta be him," Butters says to himself. He gets up and stands next to the man's table, kind of looking away nervously. "Look, ah, I want you to cut it out."

"What?" the guy says with a mouth full of doughnut.

"Just cut it out, okay?"

"Cut what out?"

"Now come on. I mean, please, let's not play games."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'll call the police. You think I won't?" Butters slaps the doughnut away, "You're wrong, mister. Do you think you can take your butt and lay ass Whoopers on everybody's driveway? You're wrong. You got another thing comin'."

"Nuts to you!" he shoves Butters back hard.

"Hey!" the manager yells out from behind the counter. He walks around to a space for employees to exit the counter, which has been widened and shaped to his big fat belly so it can fit threw, "Sir, you need to leave this establishment!" he yells at Butters.

"Sorry," says Butters.

The place goes nearly silent; only the sound of some wheezing, farting, stomach sounds, and slow chewing can be heard now. Once out, his phone beeps. He pulls it out of a pocket and looks at it; the Crap App is flashing "Brown Alert".

.

CUT OT: Mr. Mackey's house. The boys arrive to find the news crew already setting up.

"I'll give him this: he's one clever asshole," says Stan.

"I didn't know it was humanly possible to shit that much," says Kyle.

"Well, to be fair, we've never been in Al Gore's bathroom," Stan comments.

"I think that's a _different_ kind of 'Full of shit'," says Kyle.

Eric walks up.

"Hey, guys," he looks at the pile of shit, "Wooowww – it's like a never-ending supply of portable fertilizer."

"What a lonely lonely pathetic life you must live to get your kicks doing this," says Kyle.

Mr. Mackey opens his front door and shouts, "Everybody, just … just go home, m'kay?! Stop hanging around my house and looking at the pile of all-natural all organic fertilizer. What's done is done, m'kay; it's not going to get up and do the Old Time Rag."

"Mr. Mackey! Mr. Mackey! Tom Thompson, channel Six news! Can I talk with you?" Tom Asks, having run up with the crew in tow.

"Um, I guess."

"Awesome. Can you tell us what you saw?"

"Well, I was outside weed pulling my garden on the side of the house when this portly fellow walked on to my driveway."

"Was he in all grey sweats?" Asks Tom.

"Yes. Yes he was. Sort of like an Oompa Loompa crossed with Richard Simmons."

"And then what happened?"

"He had a hood on and was facing away from me. He got up right on the bumper of my car so I couldn't see him from my vantage point, pulled his pants down, and pushed out a black banana."

Tim giggles while covering his mouth.

"Can you describe it?" Tom asks.

"Describe what?"

"His calling card pile," says Tom.

"Oh. Ah, well, it's brown in color. I'm not sure what else there is to say, really."

"Was it runny or solid?"

"Solid."

"Was it like wetted Play Dough or cracked and compacted like dried up clumps of Play Dough?"

"Ahhh, I don't really understand what this has to do with anything," Mackey comments.

Kyle looks at Eric, "There are only so many houses left that we _know_ eventually you will shit on, Cartman. Why don't you just fess up now and clear your conscious and not let this be a stain on your record when you get to Heaven?"

"And don't shit on God's cloud when you're up there," Stan adds.

"Kyle, what do you want me to say? 'I'm Poopicus!'? Well, Kyle, I can't claim something I didn't do. But I've come to expect this kind of thinking from you, Kyle; being Jewish and an asshole. But I am surprised at you, Stan, and you, Kenny. I thought we were better friends than this."

"You've used me for countless schemes," says Kenny.

"You tried to exterminate my best friend," says Stan.

"And every time we find a pile of shit, you're conveniently nowhere to be found during and right after. You want the benefit of the doubt? Be with all three of us when it happens," says Kyle.

Eric hesitates for a second, then replies, "Kyle, I can't control when this unknown pavement assailant strikes."

"Eat a dick," says Kyle who then walks off; Stan and Kenny join him.

The Hardly Boys come walking in.

"My clue is pointing this way," says Joe.

"Now my clue is pointing over there," says Frank.

"Oh, Frank – we should totally put our clues together. Cluetting!"


	5. Chapter 5

Kyle, Kenny, and Stan stand outside the next morning.

"Okay, game plan: Cartman hit the likely targets before, tried to throw us off twice by hitting targets not expected, struck my driveway again out of vengeance, so he's probably counting on us thinking that he'll repeated and hit another unlikely target like Mr. Garrison or Principal Victoria. I feel _confident_ he'll strike one of the people we talked about yesterday. I hate to say it, Kenny, but I think you're next. After his little spew yesterday, you gotta be. Plus, he's already his Stan. We'll focus on the likely targets only. Butters is manning my selfie drone right now. His ass is _over_. Go Poop Patrol!"

They put on their poop emoji hats and head out.

.

Time passes by as they patrol. Kyle stops at a pay phone at an old run-down gas station not far from Kenny's place, having walked by to check it out. He puts a couple quarters in and dials. Butters answers after having landed the drone atop a phone poll.

"Sailor Hardware. How can I help you?"

"Red One. Day code, politics. Ident' procedure: pound, firmly."

Butters closes his door, "Okay, it's secure now."

"Anything yet, Butters?" Kyle asks.

"Target has not been spotted yet. Must be pooping at the track still. I can fly over there and check it if you want."

"No. Stick to patrolling the streets and nearby streets of the likely marks. He's got to hit one of them."

"What if that…" he lowers his voice so his parents can't hear him, "Shit Bandit," he says, raising his voice back up, "takes a day off?"

"Honestly, that didn't occur to me, but I _know_ Eric Cartman and there's no way he'd take a day off and miss shitting on someone's driveway, especially since he's not hit Kenny's place yet."

"All right then. I'm going to go back to controlling the Flying P.P. then. Bye."

.

Kenny patrols a street. He turns when he hears Clyde yell out to him.

"Oh, sure, _now_ you're here. Where were you the other day when the Shit Bandit was making ass biscuits on our driveway? Never a Poop Patrol around when you need one!"

"Brown Two in: I see something. Pursuing. Over."

Stan jogs over and follows a short fat man in all grey sweats.

"Red One. What do you see? Out."

"Maintaining radio silence. Brown Two over."

Stan jogs steadily, keeping a distance so as to hopefully not be heard. After a minute the man pauses and steps onto a driveway. Stan stops and pulls out his phone and waits to start recording. The man wipes his forehead and continues jogging slowly. Stan closes the gap some by jogging faster to get a better view. The man jogs faster; so does Stan. The man then slows down; so does Stan. Then he speeds up again, causing Stan to do the same. Around thirty seconds later the man stops and so does Stan. The man turns around; half a doughnut is in his mouth, which he removes.

"Goddamnit! Did my wife send you, too?! I am a forty-five-year-old man! If I want to eat doughnuts while I jog, _I will!_" he bellows, spraying doughnut bits about.

"No, no, no, I was just jogging!" Stan says.

"Screw off you little butt nuggets! And tell her she _failed!_" he then turns back around and jogs away.

Stan stands there stunned. He pulls out his walkie-talkie and holds down Send.

"Brown Two reporting in: false alarm. Over."

Kenny patrols down a street, ever vigilant.

"Hey, lookin' sexy!" a girl calls out.

"Thanks!" he calls back out in his muffled voice. He then says to himself, "Yeah, it's the uniform. Girls dig a guy in uniform."

Kenny struts some as he walks. Twirling around his walkie-talkie in one hand in order to look cool and impress any girls watching, Kenny stops dead in his tracks and quickly brings it to his mouth.

"Shit! I see shit! Corn Mix out!"

"Where?" Stan shouts back.

"Where?!" Kyle also says at the same time.

"Hold on!" Kenny yells back.

Kenny runs over. It's then he sees a fat person in all grey sweats appear from behind some large bushes sticking out some on the street.

"Poop Patrol! Freeze, poop bag!"

The man freezes.

"Suspected detained on Redwood!" Kenny yells out on the walkie-talkie.

"Converge! Converge!" Kyle's voice can be heard.

Kenny walks over closer to the man who has a hood on.

"Turn around slowly and keep your pants up!"

The man turns around.

"Office Barbrady?"

"I didn't do whatever it is. And if I did, I'm sure it can't be legally proven," Barbrady replies, carrying his dog.

Kenny looks at the dog, then the pile of shit and back at Barbrady, "Did your dog dump on that driveway?"

"All right, all right, I confess. But in Piddles defense, he's old and incontinent; it's not his fault he thought that the driveway was the floor of a Wal-Mart."

"Ugh," Kenny says in frustration; he speaks into the walkie-talkie, "Corn Mix in: another false alarm; it's just dog dung. Out."

"Damnit," says Stan, who has stopped running over to Redwood.

We hear Kyle make incoherent words in frustration over the walkie-talkie. The Hardly Boys walk by.

"So, found anything yet?" Stan asks in a mocking voice.

"We're still on the prowl for one big good clue," says Frank.

"Yeah," says Joe, "So far we've found nothing but clue blockers. You turn forty and no one wants to share clues with you anymore."

"I have no idea what you are saying, but I'll take your word for it."

"Did you find anything?" Frank asks Stan.

"No, just a pile of doggie Chris Rocks," Stan replies.

"Doggie? Hum. That's giving me a clue," says Frank.

"Really?" asks Joe.

"Yeah. My clue's pointing north."

"Un, well, my clue's pointing south. No, wait, west south-west. Now it's pointing north, too!"

"Seriously, Joe, that is so hot!"

"Let's go back to our hotel room and help each other with our clues!"

"Oh, I'll dress up like Nancy Drew and I'll take your clue no matter how tough it is!" says Frank.

They walk away fast.

Stan stands there, "I feel violated somehow."

"Red One! Red One! Poopguard is reporting Flying P.P. has found a pile!"

"Where?!" Stan and Kenny both say nearly at the same time.

.

**Ding dong!** A doorbell rings after Kenny presses it; he stands there looking extremely pissed off.

Eric opens the door, standing there with sweat stains on his grey sweats, "Hey guys. Hey, Kenny, how are you?"

"**YOU FUCKING!**"

Stan and Kyle grad onto Kenny to hold him back; Kenny struggles to break free.

"What's wrong?" asks Eric.

"**RRRAAARRRRR!**" Kenny roars loudly, dragging Kyle and Stan forwards.

"You just had to do it, didn't you, Cartman?" Kyle asks rhetorically in an angry voice.

"Do what, Kyle?"

"Even though Kenny's place doesn't have a driveway, I knew you'd break your M.O. and shit on it! I haven't said it lately, but you really are a bastard."

"Don't you have anything fucking better to do?" Stan asks.

"Guys, this is getting old. Read my lips: I did not defecate on that kid's yard. Mr. Kenny's."

"How would you like it if we shit all over _your_ driveway?" Kyle asks furiously.

"Well, I should hope you guys wouldn't; that's illegal," Eric replies.

"Like other A-holes, you don't know when to quit, and that will be your downfall," says Kyle.

"Yeah!" Kenny adds.

"Well, at least your property value couldn't go down any further, Kenny. Guys, you're welcome here any time, but my hospitality only extends so far. Good day, gentlemen," Eric then shuts the door. Eric chuckles as he walks away, "Heh heh heh…"

They all walk away pissed off and looking pissed off.

"That's enough! This fucking ends tomorrow!" Kyle says angrily.

"How do we accomplish that?" Stan asks.

"I'm biting the bullet and I'm going to camp in front of Eric's house and follow him when he leaves. He won't be letting go his chocolate Eggos while I'm in pursuit."

"And we'll be the lookout in case he gets away from you. Kenny and I are playing officer Barbrady bingo."

"It's a plan. Come on, we'll go play video games at my place," says Kyle; they follow him, taking off their poop emoji hats.

.

Hours pass by and shadows of trees and structures cast across streets and land as the sun is setting. We hear the comedy song "Shaving Cream" by Benny Bell play as Kyle packs a small bag.

Song: "I have a sad story to tell you, it may hurt your feelings a bit. Last night when I walked into my bathroom, I stepped into a big pile of ssshaaaving cream; be nice and clean; shave every day and you'll always look king."

Kyle rolls up a sleeping bag during a brief instrument part. He heads for his bedroom door.

The song continues as Eric sits at the kitchen table getting more and more full as he eats.

Song: "I think I'll break off with my girlfriend, her antics are queer I'll admit. Each time I say 'Darling I love you', she tells me that I'm full of ssshaaaving cream; be nice and clean; shave every day and you'll always look king."

During another instrument bit, Eric takes a bowl of gravy and –foregoing the plate – simply drinks from it like it was a soda bottle.

The song continues to play during a montage of Kyle walking and Eric eating.

Eric wolfs down entire meatballs like they were fluffy bits of cotton candy.

Song: "When I was in France with the Army, one day I looked into my kit."

Eric washes then down with a liter of diet Coke Cola.

Song: "I thought I would find me a sandwich, bit the darn thing was loaded with ssshaaaving cream; be nice and clean' shave every day and you'll always look king."

Kyle sets his stuff across from the Cartman residence. Eric walks over to a window facing the street to drop the blinds down and sees Kyle rolling out a sleeping bag.

Song: "And now folks my story has ended, I think it is time I should quit. If any of you feel offended, stick your head in a barrel of ssshaaaving cream; be nice and clean; shave very day and you'll always look king."

As the song ends, Eric rolls his eyes and drops the blindes closed.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning. Kyle is jolted out of a deep sleep when the alarm clock on his phone goes off. After shutting it off, he climbs out of the sleeping bag and stretches. Kyle yawns and then begins eating as the sun rises.

Nine o'clock comes and goes, yet Kyle remains vigilant. He picks up his walkie-talkie.

"Red One. Anything?"

"Brown Two reporting. No brown Twizzler's yet."

"Corn Mix checking in. No sewer trout in sight. What about you?" Kenny asks Kyle.

"Target has yet to leave his house, so no brown swirlies yet. Red One out."

Another half hour passes. Kyle eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He keeps an eyes on his phone, waiting for the CrApp to go off. Finally, about ten thirty, Kyle stands up and walks to the front door, having lost patience. He rings the doorbell; Eric's mom answers.

"Good morning, Kyle."

"Morning. Is Eric up?"

"Why yes, but he went to the backyard to play and must have gone jogging from there, 'cause he's not back there."

"Thank you!" Kyle starts running and pulls out his walkie-talkie, "Red One! Thunderpoop is on the loose! Thunderpoop is loose!"

"Brown Two. Checking Jimmy's driveway!"

"Corn Mix in. Timmy's driveway is all clear!"

"Checking Tweek's driveway now! Red One out!"

As Kyle runs, he dashes around the Hardy Boys.

"Whoa – somebody took a clue supplement, if you know what I mean," say Joe.

"Looks like he's suffering from premature clueation," says Frank.

They watch him stop at a house.

"Red One in. No anal Tootsie Rolls at Tweek's either."

"Brown Two. It's nearly eleven – he's never been this late. If he's no marking the likely's, then where is he?"

CUT TO: A door to a house opening; Jesus walks out. Birds flock to him and a blue bird lands on a shoulder.

"Yay," he says as a ray of sunshine shines down upon him "for there is a blue bird on my shoulder. And yay, for the squirrels are eating the acorns. It is another beautiful day in my Father's creation; birds are chirping, bees are buzzing, and that man over there behind my BMW is … Jesus Christ!"

Kyle whips out hos phone when the Crap App sounds off.

"Red One here! Shit in progress at Jesus' place! I repeat: Shit in progress! Converge! **CONVERGE!**"

Kyle runs as fast as he can; the Hardly Boys run after him.

"Frank, my clue is bouncing up and down!"

"Target potted! He's coming at me! Brown Two over!"

"I'm nearing your location! Corn Mix out!"

"He's cutting through the woods! Brown Two pursuing!"

Stan runs into the woods, too.

"Not this time, dungmaster!" Stan yells out, pushing brush out of the way and avoiding low branches. "He's cutting across fourth, heading north!"

"I'm on second; I'll intercept! Corn Mix out!" Kenny then waits.

"Red One in. I'm trying to catch up! He's probably trying to get to main street to lose us in a store!"

Kenny looks and two dozen or more feet away he sees the suspect exit the woods and then run down the streets away from him, with Stan emerging and following.

"He's heading east on second! It dead ends into Cortex! I'm proceeding on to main street to block him; Corn Mix out!"

Kenny dashes down a dirt path in between houses.

"I'm nearly at main street, south bound! Red One out!"

"Oh, Joe, my clue pieces of evidence are jiggling around!"

"Seriously, Frank, that's giving me such a clue!"

A Jehovah's Witness starts running with Stan.

"Do you have a minute to talk about our Lord and savior Jesus Christ?"

"Dude, you seriously need to fuck off right now!" Stan yells.

"Can I leave you a pamphlet?"

"Can I leave you my middle finger? Go away!"

"I'm on main by the plastic surgery place. Corn Mix out."

"Target is turning onto main street! Passing KFC! Brown Two over!"

"I see you!" Kenny yells into his walkie-talkie. "He sees me! He's crossing the street!"

"Don't let him into that doughnut place or we'll lose him!" Kyle tells back.

Kenny runs over and blocks the door to the doughnut place. The suspect looks around.

"FREEZE! Poopsicle!" Kyle yells, exiting an alley onto main.

The suspect quickly turns away and runs down an alley. The three of them converge on the alley way.

"We got him now; that's a dead end!" Stan yells triumphantly; he reaches for his phone.

"Sweet! It really takes a huge asshole to use Jesus to spread your shit around!" says Kyle.

The suspect dodges back and forth and tries futily to jump up and grab on to the cement wall.

"Officer Barbrady, we have the Shit Bandit. We're in the blocked-off alley between the old Post Office and the pawn shop. Thanks," Stan hangs up. "He's coming."

The approach slowly.

"Don't move!" Kenny yells out.

Stan speaks, "While the Hardly Boys are out doing whatever exactly it is they do that we probably shouldn't fully know the details about, I think we should pat ourselves on the back for a job well done."

"Yeah!" Kenny exclaims.

"Nailed it!" Kyle exclaims.

They high-five each other and stop about a dozen feet away.

"All right, Cartman – the jig is up!" Kyle barks in a triumphant voice. "So why don't you turn around and put your fat hands up!"

Eric suddenly walks over, "Hey guys, what's up?"

"We finally caught you, that's wh … Cartman?" Kyle says taken aback.

"No. Fucking. Way," Stan says shocked.

"If you're over here, then who's over there?" asks Kyle.

They look back at the short fat man in all grey sweats with the hood pulled over. The man turns around.

The three of them say in unison, "All Rowker?"

"I pooped my pants," says Rowker.

"You pooped your pants?" Stan repeats back, still surprised.

"A little bit," says Rowker.

A siren sounds and a door slams; Barbrady comes waddling down the alley way, "Okay, boys, I can take it from here. Jesus called and said he witnessed it. Your shitty reign is over, Shit Bandit. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I pooped my pants."

"Yeah, that's what they all say," Barbrady then handcuffs Al and walks him to the cruiser while people watching the alley way opening.

"Why'd you do it?" Kyle asks, having followed them.

"Because I'm an A.S.S.H.O.L.E.," Rowker answers as sits down.

Barbrady shuts the door.

"Nothing to see here, people; just another media news personality giving us shit, caught. Go home and stop watching their networks."

Barbrady opens his door, sits, and closes it; he drives away.

"Well, Jimmy shit corn and I don't care," says Eric.

"Oh, Frank, that reminds me – we need to buy more soap for the shower."

"Uuummm, Joe, that's giving me such a big clue…"

Voiceover: "The Hardly Boys. Two young whipper snappers with a knack for solving mysteries! The Hardly Boys in: The Mystery of Who Dropped the Soap in the Shower!"

Stan and Kenny turn around to face Eric; Kyle remains faced away.

"Dude, I am so sorry. I really thought it was you!" says Kenny.

"Apology accepted, Kenny. You've always been my good friend. Stan, have something you want to say?"

"Eric, I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For accusing you."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Being a douche…"

"Huah," Stan huffs, "I'm sorry for being a douchebag."

"Apology accepted, Stan. Next time try not being so much of a douchebag."

Stan grinds his teeth as he and Kenny walk away.

Kyle still stands facing away, still shocked and not wanting to face Eric.

"Ahem," Eric fakes clearing his throat.

Kyle looks down and slowly turns around.

"Well, well, well, Kyle. I believe you owe me an apology."

"Eric, I … I'm so, so sorry."

"For?"

"For not believing you and calling you a liar."

"And?"

"And for making everyone think you did it."

"Annnddd?"

"Ahhh…" Kyle thinks.

"And for Carment Santiego-ing me

"And I'm sorry for following you around everywhere."

"Well, I'm not a, quote, better man, un-quote, like you, Kyle, so I'm going to reluctantly accept your apologies."

"Please, Eric, I really screwed up. What can I say to make it better?"

"Huuummm, well, I guess there are two or three things."

"Just tell me and I'll say them."

"Tell me I have a big dick."

"What does that have to do wi-"

"It'll make me feel better."

Kyle sighs, "You … have a big dick."

"It's huge, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's huge."

"You made all those accusations and insults because you're really just an Obamahole, didn't you?"

"Kyle sighs again, "Yes."

"I agree, but your problem really stems from being a Jew, doesn't it, Kyle?"

Kyle hesitates, but relents, "Yes. It's because I'm Jewish."

"Well, Kyle, I do feel better now. Maybe next time somebody shits all over driveways, you won't be so quick to pass judgment on me. Well, it's about lunch time, so I gotta walk back and get cleaned up. Try not to judge me as I walk away."

And with that, Eric waddles off, leaving Kyle standing there speechless.

"You're a horrible person," says a man who had been watching the whole thing after Barbrady left.

Kyle walks away silently.

.

Two weeks later.

Eric walks up to a small house and rings the doorbell. Al Rowker opens the door, wearing an ankle bracelet tracker.

"Mr. Rowker, I heard you were under house arrest. I trust your case is going well."

"Yes. I was let out on bail which fellow A.S.S.H.O.L.E.S. paid. So far the county is arguing over the budgetary expense of testing the other collected shit piles, and trying to find a witness.

"What about Jesus?" Eric asks.

"LOL, I prayed and asked for forgiveness and he doesn't want to go against his Father's will. What a helpful crutch religion is. Ha ha ha."

"Tell me about it," Eric digs around in his left pocket; he pulls out some money. "Here are the fifty dollars I promised you for hitting on the driveways."

"Thank you, Mr. Cartman; it was a pleasure doing business with you."

"The pleasure was all mine, Eric says happily.

"Not that I _need_ to know, but why did you pay me to shit on all those driveways?"

"Really just for shits and giggles, but watching Kyle force out all those apologies to me, was more nummy than if Cheesy Puffs had a KFC flavor that came with a free soda."

"One thing does confuse me though. If you didn't want to get caught personally taking the shits, then how come you did risk taking two of the shits yourself?"

"And pass up the opportunity to shit on Kyle's driveway twice? I only wish I could have done it all three times myself. Well, take care and try not to poop on anymore driveways."

Al replies, "That won't be an issue; I pooped my pants."

"You pooped your pants?"

"A little bit."

"A little more than I needed to know. So long," Eric turns around and walks away; he starts singing as he does, "Pooparoni on the San Francisco streets…"

.

**-THE END-**


End file.
